


Four Months

by ShadowoftheLamp



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Gen, Invader Zim Comics, Zimvoid, mentions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26297689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowoftheLamp/pseuds/ShadowoftheLamp
Summary: It had been four months since he had captured Zim.Dib becoming Zib.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Four Months

**Author's Note:**

> As in 'Zibvoid', Zib is referred to as Dib since he objected to the name and this is from his perspective.
> 
> Major character death is in regards to Zim. The actual death is just a sentence or two but I figured better safe than sorry. Not sure if I should tick 'graphic depictions of violence' since it's not THAT detailed, but take note of the gore tag.

Four months. 

It had been four months since he had captured Zim. Three months since he'd vivisected him and sewed him back up, watching him struggle against the gag. (It had been alone. He'd recorded it. The Eyeballs that didn't call it fake had praised him but had given him no real recognition, and never could. They had no real power, no media coverage, nothing he could _use._ )

Two months since he'd pried the Pak off Zim's body and watched the light leave irken eyes, watched as the body stopped twitching before trying to download the information from the Pak and hitting more firewalls than he could break in a thousand years. One since he'd _almost_ flayed the skin off the corpse but restrained himself, because maybe if he just kept the body intact, they'd finally see.

Zero since he'd realized that wasn't going to happen.

_"Great, so you got rid of Zim. Are you finally going to stop bugging me about your para-stuff, now?"_

_"Detention. The Skool taxidermy lab is not a plaything, Dib. Where did you even **get** something that size?"_

Dad hadn't even come home.

The police had gotten involved, a few weeks ago. Zim had no records, and no one could technically prove he had ever _really_ existed or that that body with the strange insides _wasn't_ of Dib's own creation. The police left him with a business card for a therapist. He buried his face in a pillow and screamed and screamed and _screamed_ , and then his voice was hoarse but he kept screaming anyway because there was nothing else to do. 

He stopped going to skool. It took them a week to notice, and three for the calls to bring his father back to the house. (Three long weeks where he'd paced in front of the body kept pristine by embryonic-adjacent fluid and thought and thought, and those thoughts were starting to spiral as if being spaghettified into a black hole. Dib had never had a very high opinion of humanity, but it was growing looser as he went longer and longer without sleep and without leaving the lab, without leaving Zim.) His father had sat Dib down and asked why he'd stopped going to skool, and didn't listen to the answer that there was no use anymore since they were all going to die if they didn't listen, didn't listen, never listened. There was a threat and his father was willfully ignoring it even when Dib pulled the body from the unused clone tank, started peeling the flesh from the bone in front of him, exposed the exoskeleton, pink blood soaking his hands and arms and skin and muscles and bone as his father just shook his head.

_"That's a nice model you've made, son. Are you interested in anatomy? I could set you up with something at the lab, but it would need some work- the organs are all wrong. Maybe it could work for a movie, but nothing more."_

Nothing more. Nothing more than a hoax, nothing more than a lie, nothing more than anything less than the truth. The armada was coming. Dib had murdered one of their invaders, and Zim had always paraded that they were always a single call out of reach, with teleportation technology beyond Earth's, no doubt.

Something had to be done.

The candy-sweet blood was stinking up the lab. Zim was unrecognizable, a mess of skin and muscle and organ and bone laying next to the disassembled little robot of his and the Pak.

The Pak Dib had never been able to crack. The Pak that had all kinds of information on it. The Pak that connected to all of Zim's tools, and weapons, and his base. The Pak that could link him to the power to _make_ everyone listen.

His hands were still pink when he reached for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos are super appreciated!


End file.
